in some Eastern high school, an' that there Jennie Adams, what don't
know enough t' tell time by a kitchen clock, not bein' puhmitted t'
learn Injun nothin'. It ain't right."

Bill Jordan leaned back, well satisfied with the effect he had produced.
"'Course it ain't right," he said. "Th' reason for it is that th'
cemetery o' learnin' where John's goin' t' teach is a private
institootion, an' this here shack o' Jennie's is controlled by th'
gov'ment. I ain't no anarkiss, but--"

"What's an anarkiss?" interrupted Buck.

"A feller what's ag'in' th' gov'ment," explained Bill. "You can't make
me b'lieve that our Injun ain't as good as th' scholards at Jennie's
emporium. Take that potato-faced brother Jim of hers, f'r instance,
that's a coyote in 'pearance an' a rattlesnake at heart. Why, Injun's
a--a--prince of timber buck too compared t' him."

Bill did not know what a Prince of Timbuctoo was, and neither did the
other punchers, but it sounded impressive, and served to vent his
feelings against a law which affected his friend Injun--for as such
Bill, and all the men in the bunk house, regarded the boy.

There may have been reasons why the Indian children were kept from
association with whites. But in the minds of these men of the plains,
who knew both the bad and the good in the red men, and the bad and the
good in the white men of that day and that country, the reasons were not
founded on justice. Furthermore, they were conceived by lawmakers far
away. So the cowboys vented their feelings against what seemed to them
rank injustice.